


dark flames

by LearaBribage



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables (TV 2000), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Enjolras-centric, EnjonineWeek, EnjonineWeek2019, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, day 1: revolution, enjonine - Freeform, red the blood of angry men, you have to squint for the enjonine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 08:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20206636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearaBribage/pseuds/LearaBribage
Summary: The barricades fall. The triumvirate runs. The Chief stares defiantly.





	dark flames

A wave of dark flames rose over the horizon. Enjolras stared blankly. Everything had gone wrong.

His friends drooped like daisies on the silver pavements. The sky was coal-black, and everywhere was a chorus of cannons and gunfire as Combeferre dragged him and Courfeyrac to the safety of the Musain. It didn't matter.

In passing, his eyes skimmed over the form of Éponine laid out carefully on the floor. Her auburn tresses fanned out around her as light briefly filtered through the broken glass in their haste. Lids closed and mouth set in a thin line, the waif looked peaceful, as if she was only in deep slumber.

It didn’t matter that the hand over her heart, though cleaned, still bore the ugliness of this century’s madness. It didn’t matter that, briefly, he met her eyes during the flood of fire and blood at the barricades and saw the same sense of determination in them. It didn’t matter that she came for a man, and he for the promise of the future. It didn’t matter.

They were there for the same cause made fervid by love. Not that he usually spoke of it. Not that he ever thought it weak. It was one thing to declare, another to endure.

But he could not linger, not anymore, and walking away from her, his heart sank further.

Everything had still gone wrong.

Bullets traced the ceiling below them, and they clustered together like pigs ready for slaughter. He didn't realise his lungs were labouring, his breaths unmeasured as theirs, waiting. But for some reason, they evaded him while Combeferre and Courfeyrac fell beside him. Their blood washed the floor, painting his face _red, red, red._

The tears would not come. Steps. His sharp ears heard them, and Enjolras stared blankly. The door opened, and the leader of the national guard was an old friend, Gilen, from the summer days of his childhood.

Enjolras stared defiantly.

Gilen did not plead, but he saw the tears threatening to fall from his old friend's eyes, raising his hand to gesture to the fire squad to begin. It would not. Not yet. For Grantaire had arrived, pleading to die with him. He did not mind.

It was better to die in the company of friends.

Enjolras stared defiantly, and looked beyond. The battle was over, at least for today.

The people will rise again, and the picture of the future will be vibrant. From ashes, they began. From ashes, they shall return. Their souls are ashes, and so the winds shall carry the residue of their dreams to other souls.

But today, he must first reach the horizon. He stood his ground. The chorus began, and his lids fell.

Dark flames filled his vision. Enjolras breathed his last, and everything was all right.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been looking at how Aaron Tveit acted during the final battle, and how Tom Hooper filmed it. Here is my attempt of translating that visual into words (with enjonine as a side).


End file.
